


Two Sizes Too Small

by ashamedbliss



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Comedy, First Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, have you worked out it's a christmas fic yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/pseuds/ashamedbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor accidentally lets slip that he's never really had a proper Christmas. Tracey is determined to change that, and Michael doesn't get much of a choice, even if Trevor is being a bit of a <i>Grinch</i> about it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Sizes Too Small

**Author's Note:**

> again huge thank you to [kxthyx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kxthyx/pseuds/kxthyx) for the very last minute beta and [lumbeam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam) for the cheerleading (great now i'm thinking of trevor). it might be the day after Christmas but there is no such thing as too much Christmas fluff. i hope you enjoy this little fic of mine! <333

Trevor’s feet are up on his desk, his left hand down his pants and his right hand absentmindedly scrolling through soft-core porn on his pre-millennium computer. There’s a soft knock on the door to his office. He removes his hand from his pants and places it over his semi instead. “Yes?”

Sapphire and Juliet walk in, both wearing matching red corsets trimmed with white fluff and red thongs. “What do ya think?” Sapphire asks as she gestures towards Juliet, who does a twirl.

Trevor eyes them both warily, his gaze lingering on the way the corsets push their tits up. He sighs, turning back to the computer, where the dial-up internet is still struggling to load a picture of two guys making out. “I don’t remember instituting a uniform policy.”

“It’s for Christmas!” Juliet says excitedly.

Trevor tenses. “It’s the third of December. It ain’t Christmas yet.”

“Uncle T,” Sapphire says with a little whine in her voice which causes Trevor’s heart to melt a little.

“Christmas starts in LS on the first of December,” Juliet supplies quickly. “If you wanna be a city guy you gotta learn the city rules.”

“Juliet, shouldn’t you be on the pole?” Trevor asks, not looking up from the picture on his computer that has _finally_ finished loading. All he hears is a put-on sigh and the _stomp stomp stomp_ of eight inch platforms walking away. He looks up at Sapphire, properly this time, and notices something shiny in her hair. “What is that?” Trevor says, circling a finger around his own head.

“It’s tinsel!” Sapphire says, a huge grin on her face. It slides away as Trevor continues to stare at her. “You... you know what tinsel is, right?” The hurt in her voice is almost tangible.

“Saph, come over here,” Trevor says, beckoning the stripper towards him as he drops his feet off his desk. She’s one of his youngest employees, and secretly his favourite. “Take a seat,” he says, gesturing to his lap. She giggles a little before sitting down, casually looping her arms around his neck. “This Christmas thing means a lot to you, right?” 

Sapphire nods, pouting a little. “It’s all me and my mom had when we were growing up. She used to make the best cookies.”

Trevor doesn’t call her up on the use of the past tense. “Alright, alright,” he says softly. “You can wear the little fluffy things and the tin-sel.” Sapphire laughs at the way he says it. “But you better make sure everyone looks the same. I don’t want people wearing different colours.”

“Why would they?” she asks, and she reminds him of Tracey a bit. He shakes that thought from his head. “Red and white are Santa’s colours.” Trevor stares at her blankly once more. “C’mon, Uncle T, you gotta know who Santa is.”

“Yeah, the guy who steals all my fucking business each December,” Trevor says, and Sapphire doesn’t press it further.

Instead, she rubs her hand over Trevor’s crotch, where his erection had been pressing into her thigh, maintained by his casual glances at her tits. “You want me to take care of this?”

Trevor glances back at the image of the two guys kissing on his monitor. “Sweetheart, I’m flattered, but I’m gonna pass.” He taps her ass slightly and she gets up off his lap. “Now go and seduce some men with more money than sense. In the meantime, I’m gonna jack off to some amateur fisting shit on that Bunny Rub spin-off site.”

Sapphire looks at Trevor like he’s grown two heads, before she waves her hand as she saunters out of his office. “You’re the best, Uncle T,” she says, and Trevor smiles at the endearment. “Can’t wait for my Christmas bonus.”

Trevor sits up straight, nearly leaping out of his seat. “Christmas _what_?!”

*

Late one evening mid-December, Trevor finds himself driving through central Los Santos on his way to a drug deal with an up-and-coming gang roaming the southern neighbourhoods. Trevor’s planning on it going well, but there’s a heavy shotgun in the footwell of the passenger side of his Bodhi just in case.

The announcer of Los Santos Rock Radio says something about being festive, before an Elton John song starts. “ _Step into Christmas, step into Christmas_!”

“Fuck this,” Trevor mutters, before changing the station to Channel X. The current song ends before a more soulful one starts. When Trevor realises it’s a punky cover of _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ , he groans and re-tunes the station, settling for Non-Stop Pop FM over the Christmas bullshit on all the other channels.

A song later, as the opening chords of a Christmas song by Destiny's Child starts playing, Trevor fully considers ripping the radio right out of the dash and hurling it onto the street beside him. Instead, he turns it off, concentrating on navigating several narrow alleyways to get to the drug deal.

He parks his truck a block away, getting out and looking around him in confusion as families stream about him, as if it isn’t nearly bedtime for all of the children about. Many of them are carrying steaming cups, and the parents look at each other with lovey eyes. “Yeck,” Trevor says loudly, his dramatic retching earning him a huff from a nearby mother. He glances at his truck, unable to get his shotgun out without arousing suspicion. Instead, he inconspicuously takes his pistol out of the glove box and tucks it down the back of his jeans. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his duffel jacket (he wasn’t just going to throw it out after his trip back to North Yankton, was he?) before walking down the street and turning into a dark alleyway.

Instead of being greeted with a variety of SUVs and an awaiting gang, Trevor sees one lonely guy, leaning up against a wall smoking a cigarette. “Don’ shoot the messenger,” the guy says, putting his hands up defensively, and Trevor is already angry.

“Where the fuck is the drug deal? You gonna message me _that_ , buddy?” Trevor says, quickly getting in the guy’s personal space.

He cowers a little under Trevor’s intense stare. “Dude, look, it ain’t me, okay? Boss said he can’t be doin’ drug deals on a night when half the fuckin’ city is walking about. Christmas light turn on and all that shit.”

“Fine,” Trevor huffs, although he has no idea what the guy is talking about. “When are we going to do this deal then, _dude_?” he drawls.

The gangster shrugs one shoulder. “Sometime after New Year. Boss said he’d holla at you,” he says before starting to walk away. Trevor grabs his shoulder and spins him around, pinning him against the wall.

“Woah, woah. New Year is _peak season_ for party drugs, and we’re going to let some insignificant holiday like _Christmas_ get in the way of raking in the money?”

The messenger looks at Trevor like he’s insane, and he’s mostly right. “Dude, are you fo’ real? Do you even _have_ Christmas up in Canada?”

Trevor growls, shouting a non-descript swear before headbutting the gangster clean on the nose. He stumbles backwards into the wall before collapsing onto the cold concrete. “I’m only not killing you because I wanna shift this product, you impolite fuck!” Trevor yells at his unconscious body, before storming angrily out of the alleyway and back towards his truck. “Fucking Christmas,” Trevor mutters to himself. “Getting in the way of my fucking plans. It’s this shit stain of a city,” he says, and a father quickly pulls his daughter out of Trevor’s way as he stomps up the sidewalk, slamming the door of his truck as he gets in. “It never used to be this important back in North Yankton. Mikey won’t be settling for this festive shit, oh no,” Trevor laughs to himself, gunning the engine and swerving out onto the road, heading towards Rockford Hills. 

Coloured lights twinkle above him, stretched across the boulevards in different Christmas scenes. Trevor sneers at them, narrowly avoiding running over an elderly couple crossing the road as he makes his way towards Michael’s house. Michael would understand, and would help him put an end to Christmas.

Trevor only just waits for Michael’s gate to slide open before squeezing his truck through the gap and parking on the drive. A ladder is propped up against the front of his house, a line of Christmas lights half-fixed, half-hanging down towards the ground. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Michael stands up from where he’d been crouching on the ground, dressed in a sweater and slacks. “Nice to see you too, T,” he says sarcastically. Trevor spreads his arms wide, pointing up at the lights.

“Don’t tell me you’re celebrating this Christmas thing too,” he accuses.

Michael laughs. “This _Christmas thing_? T, it’s not like it’s the biggest holiday of the year or anything.”

Trevor walks up the drive to stand face to face with Michael. “This _holiday_ just cost me thousands of dollars I could’ve made through a drug deal. But _noooo_ , apparently some lights being turned on or some shit like that is much more important than fucking raking it in.”

“Shit, dude, don’t you have enough money man?”

Trevor looks up to the origin of the voice, and lo and behold Franklin is on the roof of the garage, a torch in one hand and a lighting cable in the other. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me Michael talked you into this. That is abuse of his pseudo-father priv--”

“T, dog, chill the fuck out,” Franklin says, raising his hands before he starts climbing down the ladder.

“I called him to ask for help with putting up the lights, so he decided to help me out,” Michael explains. “Why, you jealous?”

“No!” Trevor says quickly, looking between the pair of them before hardening his expression a bit. He turns to Michael. “I just wanted your help. We’ve got to stop Christmas.”

Michael stares at him for a beat. Franklin, stood slightly behind Michael, snorts a little, before Michael loses it and lets out a loud belly laugh. Trevor growls, crossing his arms and waiting for Michael to finish his little performance. “And just _what_ is so funny?”

“Trevor,” Michael wheezes, straightening up and wiping dramatically at his eye. “You can’t just _stop_ Christmas. You ever seen that film with the green mons--”

“Save your fucking Vinewood references for Solomon,” Trevor says, turning away. “Fuck you both. Second retirement’s made you lazy, Mikey.”

“T, wait, c’mon,” Michael says, Trevor turning back to see Michael jogging down the drive towards Trevor’s truck. “Do you, ah, shit,” Michael says, looking at his feet.

“Do. I. _What_ ,” Trevor grinds out.

“Do you know what Christmas is about?” Michael asks, face sombre, and it’s Trevor’s turn to laugh.

“Of course I do!” he says grandly. “I had _plenty_ of stepfathers around when I was growing up, each of them _very eager_ to teach me what this so-called most wonderful time of the year is about.” Trevor leans against the side of his truck as he ticks items off his fingers. “One taught me that presents were for rich kids, one taught me that it was the time for children to be quiet and serve as ash trays, oh!” Trevor says, remembering something suddenly. “And _one_ taught me that the best present he could give me and my _dearest_ mother was a black eye each.”

“Trevor,” Michael says weakly.

“So don’t you fucking _dare_ presume that I don’t know that Christmas is the _worst_ time of the year, okay?” Trevor says, pointing his finger in Michael’s face. Michael looks at him for a moment with sadness in his eyes, before he looks down at the ground again. Trevor goes to get in his truck. 

“Trevor?” 

A warm smile spreads across Trevor’s face, despite everything, as Tracey stands in the doorway to the De Santa residence. She runs down the driveway and into Trevor, wrapping her arms around him. “Uncle T, I haven’t seen you in months!” she says, and Trevor instantly softens, holding his niece tightly, looking at Michael.

“I missed ya too, princess,” he says, giving her a final squeeze before releasing her.

“Trevor was just going,” Michael says blankly.

“What? No! He just got here!” Tracey says, turning from her father towards Trevor. “Come inside, Mom’s made up some eggnog and we’re going to bake a gingerbread house, too.”

Trevor raises his eyebrows. “Eggnog?”

Tracey’s jaw drops, turning between Michael and Trevor. Michael puts his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Sweetie, Trevor doesn’t like Christmas very much.”

“Why not?” Tracey says, and Trevor winces a little at the obvious hurt in her voice. “There’s food and drink, and everyone’s happy... or drunk, in Dad’s case--”

“Hey!”

“--and there’s the Christmas movies, and oh,” she sighs, “the _mistletoe_ , and--”

“Alright honey, I think he’s got the point,” Michael says.

Tracey sighs, before her whole face perks up. She takes one of Trevor’s hands between hers. “I know! Why don’t you spend Christmas with us?”

“What?” Trevor and Michael both say in unison, in varying degrees of surprise and anger.

“Yeah! Then we can show you how awesome Christmas totally is!” Tracey says, actually bouncing up and down on the spot in excitement for a moment or two, before she realises where she is, pausing to flick her hair out of her eyes. “I mean. Not like I’m excited or anything,” she says, trying to play it cool.

Trevor looks between Tracey’s face and Michael’s less excited one. “Alright, fine. Just for you, kiddo,” Trevor says, and Tracey hugs him again.

Michael sighs, calling over his Franklin. “While we’re at it, F, do you have somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Franklin’s moved down the drive slightly to join them all. “Yeah man, I’m cool. Me, Lamar, Tanisha and some of our friends from the hood go to church, cook some good food, smoke a bit, the works.” He heads back up the drive to carry on fiddling with the lights.

“Alright,” Michael says after a moment’s pause. “Cool. Good.” He looks to Trevor. “Amanda’s got to say yes, first.”

“I’ll convince Mom,” Tracey says, before turning to go back up the drive to the house. “It’ll be the best Christmas _ever_!” she calls out.

“Jesus,” Michael mutters, running a hand through his hair. “She hasn’t been this excited for Christmas since she was six.”

Trevor hums. “Is that the year you got her that little pink battery car? And she broke it after running it into a tree?”

Michael laughs softly. “Yeah, and she didn’t let me hear the end of it.”

“You had to go back out to the store the moment it opened again to get a new one,” Trevor says fondly, watching Tracey walk back inside the house. He turns to Michael. “Those North Yankton days... they were the closest things to Christmas I ever had.”

Michael breaks the tender moment as subtly as he can, by clapping Trevor on the back. “If you thought the Townley Christmases were good, you haven’t seen a De Santa Christmas yet.”

Trevor snaps out of it too. “What, with more money and a hundred percent more self-loathing?”

“Fuck you,” Michael says without heat. “I’ll call you once I’ve spoken to Mandy. We normally have a big dinner Christmas Eve, so you can crash that night here if you like.”

Trevor looks at Michael, mouth opening and closing a couple of times. “Thank you,” he manages eventually, before clearing his throat. “I mean, you’re a shitty best friend at the best of times, but you’ve pulled it out of the bag this time, Mikey.”

“Again, fuck you T, I’m reconsidering the offer already,” he says, walking back up the drive to his house. “Me and Franklin better finish these lights. I’ll call you.”

Trevor gets in his truck, revving the engine and rolling down Michael’s drive onto the street. He turns the radio back on, and this time, when a Christmas song starts playing, he finds himself humming along. By the time he reaches Sandy Shores, he’s even sung along to a few of them, too.

*

Michael calls a couple of days later to confirm that Amanda begrudgingly agreed, and that Trevor better be there Christmas Eve afternoon, or so God help him. On the morning of the 23rd, Trevor finds himself standing in the middle of a packed Portola Drive, with an equally as out-of-place Jimmy.

“And why didn’t Tracey volunteer to do this with me?” Trevor asks, a man shoving past him. Trevor turns to push the man over, sending his shopping bags flying, before tugging Jimmy by his sleeve out of the crowd.

“Because she’s smart and did all of her shopping before Thanksgiving,” Jimmy whines. “And because I’m dumb and I’ve done literally none of it.”

“Same boat, kid,” Trevor says, looking about them. “Alright. I know that Didier Sachs don’t have a security guard on the door.”

Jimmy stares at Trevor for a moment. “Trevor. You... you can’t just _steal_ stuff for people for Christmas.”

“Really?” Trevor says, actually sounding surprised. “That’s what me and your dad did, back in the day.”

Jimmy shake his head. “Alright, whatever fucked-up Christmas traditions you and Dad have, leave them in the past where they belong. In Los Santos, we actually _spend money_ on the people we love. That’s how capitalism works.”

“Right,” Trevor says, but he doesn’t sound sure. “So who do I need to buy a present for?”

“Mom and Dad, definitely. Although Mom will just be grateful if you don’t embarrass the family tomorrow, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Alright, bottle of expensive wine for Amanda, check,” Trevor says. “But do I really have to get something for Michael?” he whines.

“Yes!” Jimmy says, exasperated. “You can’t just _not_ get something for your hosts! You should get something for Tracey too. Me, I’m alright, but if you could hit me up with something a bit stronger than weed, if ya know what I mean...” Jimmy says lowly.

“Mmmmmmm _no_ ,” Trevor drawls, before he sets off at a pace down the street. Jimmy has to walk fast to keep up. “I ain’t supplying you with drugs. Just like sex, it shouldn’t be kept in the family. Now, if I get your dad a bottle of expensive single malt, will that make him bearable for the next couple of days?”

Jimmy blinks at the information overload. “Uh, sure, yeah. Let’s go with that.”

*

“ _Ron_!”

Trevor’s yell causes a coyote to yelp and run away from his trailer. Within seconds, he can hear Ron climbing the steps before he throws the door open. “Yes, Trevor?” Ron pants.

Trevor looks up at Ron with the fingers of his left hand sellotaped together and a pair of scissors in his right. He points them threateningly at Ron. “Do you know how to wrap presents?” he asks slowly, as if he’s a man on the edge.

Ron looks between Trevor’s furious face, and the roll wrapping paper with happy snowmen printed on it spread over the floor. “Um. Yes?”

“Help. Me,” Trevor says from between his teeth. With some difficulty, Ron gets down to sit on the floor opposite Trevor and the monstrosity which is his attempt at wrapping one of the presents he’d bought that day.

“I... I just...” Ron stutters as he delicately takes the scissors and starts cutting a fresh bit of paper.

“Say it,” Trevor snaps.

“Just didn’t have you down as a present kind of person, Trevor,” he says in a rush, bracing himself for the tirade of insults to come.

Instead, Trevor sighs. “Yeah, well, me neither. But Mikey wants me there for Christmas tomorrow, so I thought I should try.”

“Right, right,” Ron says. “Here, look, for square ends like this, you gotta fold the paper, you can’t just scrunch it up and tape it.”

Trevor bristles. “You tryna tell me what to do?” he accuses darkly.

“What?! N-no, never!” Ron says, panicked.

Trevor laughs, reaching up onto the table to grab another beer from the crate, in addition to the open one beside him. “Lighten the fuck up, _Ron_ ,” he drawls, throwing Ron the beer. He only just catches it. “It’s Christmas after all, or something like that.”

* 

The weather in Los Santos seems to not give a fuck that it’s Christmas Eve as Trevor comes down out of the hills and into the city, weak winter sunshine coating the buildings below him. The sun is already starting to go down again as he pulls up at Michael’s house wearing his ‘nice clothes’, which consist of a mostly-white button down shirt, his smartest jeans and leather boots.

“Uncle T!” Tracey cries as she opens the door to Trevor’s knock, throwing her arms around his neck. Warmth from the house hits his face, skin cold from the drive in the chilly air.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving her a quick squeeze before letting her go.

She looks him up and down. “Uh uh. This won’t do.” She turns over her shoulder to yell, “ _Dad!_ Trevor’s not wearing a Christmas sweater!”

“A what?” Trevor asks, and as he pokes his head inside the house he can see Michael running down the stairs, something in his hands. “Am I gonna need a translator to get through the next couple of days, or is someone gonna start talking some sense?”

Michael laughs, standing next to his daughter before unfolding a red sweater. The words _LICK MY CANDY CANE_ are printed across the front. “Trace got this for me a few years back, but we decided it’d be suitable for you, T."

Trevor looks at Tracey properly, and realises she’s wearing a pink fluffy sweater with _Naughty or Nice?_ stitched on the front. Michael, over a shirt and tie, is wearing a black _BAH HUMBUG_ sweater. “You honestly going to make me wear this?” Trevor says, voice quiet with shock. “Amanda is barely letting me be here, and she’ll be reading this all day?”

“Relax, we’re all wearing one. Even Kelly,” Michael says, Tracey disappearing back inside the house.

Trevor frowns. “ _Who_?”

“Amanda’s sister,” Michael says, handing Trevor the sweater. “And her little girl, Amelia. She’s just turned three and she’s absolutely convinced that Santa is visiting our house tonight. You break that dream, I break your legs, we good on that?” Michael says, stepping towards Trevor.

“Yes! Christ, Mikey, I’m not a _complete_ monster,” Trevor says, hurriedly pulling on the sweater. It’s a bit big on him. “How do I look?”

Michael sniggers. “Fucking ridiculous."

“Great. Let’s go do this Christmas thing, then,” Trevor says, and Michael steps out of the way to let Trevor into the house. Instantly, his eyes are drawn to the decking hanging in the hall, and he can distantly hear Christmas songs. “I regret this already.”

“Relax,” Michael repeats, and it’s just as ineffective second time around. He claps Trevor on the back. “Let me get you some eggnog, or something,” he says, guiding Trevor into the kitchen. The island is covered in food in various stages of preparation, and steam billows from saucepans on the stove. “Mandy! Trevor’s here.”

“Trevor,” Amanda greets calmly. “It’s...” She takes a second to look at his sweater. “Oh, I’m glad Michael gave you that one. It’s my least favourite of his.”

“It’s _wonderful_ to see you too, Amanda,” Trevor says. She’s wearing a sweater with two snowmen on it, their carrot noses three-dimensional and very obviously representing nipples. “Did Mikey give you that sweater?”

Michael laughs smugly, wrapping an arm around Amanda quickly and kissing her head. She softens a little, before turning back to the vegetables she was chopping. “Trevor, this is Amanda’s sister, Kelly,” Michael says, introducing the other woman in the room. As she turns to face Trevor, he notices that the two sisters look very alike, save for Kelly’s blonde hair. “Kelly, this is Trevor, a family friend.”

Trevor pretends to not notice Amanda’s unsubtle coughing as he shakes Kelly’s hand politely. “Nice to meet you. Heard you’ve got a little’un with you.”

Kelly laughs. “Jimmy’s playing with her in the other room,” she says, and for a moment Trevor doesn’t register her words because he’s slightly terrified of how similar the two sisters sound. “I’m making sure Mand doesn’t cut her fingers off cooking.”

“It’s not _my_ fault that we can afford a maid and that I’m out of practice,” Amanda counters. “What kind of household staff asks for Christmas off, anyway?”

Trevor secretly rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go say hi to Jimmy,” he says, before turning to walk through the dining room, a massive Christmas tree replacing one of the palm trees. In the living room, he finds Jimmy playing with a little girl with curly blonde hair, and Tracey making a video of them on her phone.

“Okay, one more take,” she encourages. “If we get this right we might be Internet superstars!”

“Okay Amelia, repeat after me,” Jimmy says, his hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Righteous Slaughter 7 is absolutely dope,” he says slowly.

Amelia giggles, covering her mouth and swinging her red and green dress about. “No,” she whines, before turning and spotting Trevor. Her blue eyes go a little wide.

“Yo, Trevor!” Jimmy says, hurriedly standing up from the floor.

“Hey, Jimmy. Nice, uh, sweater you got there,” Trevor says, gesturing at the sprigs of holly embroidered on his chest, their traditional leaves replaced with marijuana leaves.

“Isn’t it cool? The Internet is a great place,” Jimmy says. “You want a drink? We’ve got eggnog.”

Trevor’s nose wrinkles up. “Does it taste as disgusting as it sounds?”

“If you can eat brain stew like Dad says you do, then you can put up with some eggnog,” Jimmy says, and Trevor sighs. “Plus, I added something a little extra, if you know what I mean,” he stage-whispers to Trevor.

Tracey laughs from behind them on the sofa. “Ya, well, if we’re going by what _Dad_ says, then you might’ve spiked it with LSD for all we know.”

“Hey!” Jimmy argues back. “That was _one_ time, and it was for the good of the family.”

“Now you’re _really_ sounding like Dad now,” Tracey bites back.

“Hey, hey, kids,” Trevor says, reluctantly raising his arms between the fuming young adults. “This is your Uncle T’s first proper Christmas, alright? No arguing, Jesus.”

“I mean, that’s basically what Christmas is about, but sure,” Tracey says, continuing to tap away on her phone. Jimmy heads through into the kitchen, from where the Christmas songs are playing.

Trevor feels something tugging on his jeans, and he looks down to see Amelia’s tiny face beaming up on him. “And who are you?” he asks cautiously, unused to being around such small humans.

“‘Meelia,” she grins. She puts her arms up as if she wants to be held, and Trevor can’t say no. He hoists her up onto his hip, before he carries her to the sofa and sits down, arranging her on his knee. “You’re funny.”

“I’m _funny_?” Trevor asks, moderately offended. “Why oh why am I _funny_?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia says. Her head turns towards Michael’s over-the-top projection screen. “It’s Buddy!” she squeaks.

“Who?” Trevor asks, becoming more and more confused by the second.

From beside them, Tracey looks up from her phone. “Oh, shit. We’ve had this movie on loop for, like, five days straight now. She loves it.”

Jimmy arrives back in the room with a large glass of a white liquid and puts it down beside Trevor. “Wait, is this the one with... nevermind,” he asks, watching the titles begin to show on the screen. Amelia is entirely absorbed, not even wiggling in Trevor’s lap.

“You never seen it?” Jimmy asks, slumping onto the sofa on the other side of Trevor.

“Remember the part where I said I’ve never had a Christmas before?” Trevor says, but it’s without heat. He picks up his eggnog, giving it a sniff and raising his eyebrows when he smells how strong it is. He drinks half of it in one go. “This isn’t half bad.”

Jimmy laughs. “See? Told you so.”

Trevor quickly becomes absorbed in the story, laughing in all the right places if Amelia’s giggles are anything to go by. During the slower moments he surveys the room: the stockings above the roaring fire in the hearth, the second, even bigger Christmas tree in the corner, lights twinkling and gifts wrapped underneath it. At some point, Michael joins them with a glass of whiskey, and Trevor glances towards the windows to see that it’s dark outside already.

“Enjoying the movie?” Michael asks eventually, sarcasm thick in his voice.

“Yes, _and_?” Trevor drawls.

“Nothin’,” Michael says, a shit-eating smile on his face. “Not enough drugs, booze and tits for your normal affair, that’s all.”

Trevor shushes him quickly. “Watch your lang--” He looks down at Amelia in his lap, fast asleep against his chest. “When did that happen?” he asks quietly.

“A good half hour ago,” Tracey says, giggling. “We were wondering when you were going to notice.”

“Traitors,” Trevor mutters, brushing Amelia’s hair out of her face as she sleeps. “All of you.”

“You know, Trace,” Michael starts, “you used to fall asleep like that, on Trevor’s knee. Got your Mom real angry, because she could never get you settled down for a nap. But as soon as you went on T’s knee? Boom. Out like a light.”

Trevor looks to Tracey, smiling fondly, and then to Michael, whose expression is unreadable. A few moments later, Amanda appears on the threshold to the dining room. “Dinner’s ready,” she calls, before she turns back to the kitchen. “Kelly, you gotta see this.”

“Mikey, can you pause the film?” Trevor asks, looking over to Michael, shit-eating grin in place again. “Oh, fuck off, I just want to see the last ten minutes later.”

“Language,” Amanda warns from the doorway, Kelly stood next to her.

“Darlin’, if your husband wasn’t being so _dramatic_ then I wouldn’t have to swear, would I?” Trevor says sweetly. Kelly swoops in and takes Amelia from Trevor carefully, gently waking her up for dinner.

They all filter into the dining room, the round table pulled apart and extended to seat the six adults around the table, with Amelia in a booster seat with its own little tray. Amanda and Kelly start bringing the various pots and dishes to the table, while Michael goes to start carving the turkey. “T, can you pour the wine? Me and Mandy will have red.”

Trevor balks a little but remains calm, oddly enough never having had the opportunity to play sommelier before. He pours both Michael and Amanda a generous amount of red wine, before turning to Jimmy and Tracey. “Are the kids allowed it?” Trevor asks, feeling a bit stupid for having to ask.

“Yes,” Amanda calls, as Michael calls, “no.” They exchange a glance. “C’mon, MIchael, it’s Christmas,” Amanda argues.

Michael sighs. “Fine. But only half a glass for Jimmy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Tracey says sunnily. Jimmy groans at her side. “I’ll have the dry white, Uncle T.”

“Dry? What is it, fucking dehydrated or something?” Trevor asks.

Tracey rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s the one in the fridge, on the right hand side.”

“I’ll have some of that too, please, Trevor,” Kelly says, a large dish of broccoli in her hands.

“Right,” Trevor says, dodging Amanda and Kelly with their various plates of food to fight his way to the fridge. He finds the wine successfully, before pouring some for Kelly and then Tracey. “Jimmy? You want some?” he asks, gesturing with the bottle.

Jimmy takes his seat, a large glass of eggnog in his hand. “I’m fine, I’ll just have this, thanks,” he says, winking dramatically at Trevor. Trevor rolls his eyes and pours himself a large glass of the red, before moving both of the wines back into the kitchen.

“Okay, that’s everything,” Amanda says.

Trevor finds himself sat between Tracey and Amelia in her booster seat, and he thinks about what Michael had said earlier. He remembers those days, when Tracey was so tiny and looked up at Trevor like he was someone special. “Can I say a toast?” he blurts out, and suddenly all the eyes in the room are on him.

Michael and Amanda share a look on the opposite side of the table. “Sure,” Amanda says cautiously.

Trevor stands, picking up his wine glass and clearing his throat. “I just wanted to say thank you. To the lovely Amanda and Kelly, for all this lovely food. To Tracey and little Amelia, for teaching me the spirit of Christmas. To Jimmy, for, well... being Jimmy,” Trevor says, and the family laugh, even Jimmy. “And... to Michael,” Trevor says, raising his glass a bit higher. “For putting up with me for twenty years... well, give or take a few,” he says, and Michael chuckles quietly to himself. “To Michael, for teaching me the meaning of family.”

Trevor quickly finds himself overcome with emotion, and he sits down before he embarrasses himself. “Merry Christmas,” Amanda says, raising her glass, and as they all say “cheers”, Michael catches Trevor’s eye, and they both share a warm smile.

*

“I feel so, _so_ fat,” Trevor says, clutching his stomach. “Hey Mikey, I finally know what it’s like to be you.”

“Fuck off,” Michael says without heat, sprawled on the sofa next to Trevor. The dishes are done, with every last scrap of food eaten. Amanda vaguely threatened them all with dessert about ten minutes ago, and was met with a chorus of groans. “You wanna watch the end of your stupid film?”

“Hey,” Trevor argues weakly. “This film is _revolutionary_ , I’ll have you know.”

Michael rolls his eyes but unpauses the film, letting Trevor find out just what happened to the overgrown elf. As the credits roll ten minutes later, Michael glances over to Trevor. “Are you crying?”

“ _No_ ,” Trevor is quick to say, rubbing at one eye. “I just thought about the size of the shit I’ll have to take tomorrow morning after all this rich food.”

“That is _disgusting_ ,” Amanda says as she walks into the room. “Michael, can you put another log on the fire?” As Michael grunts and gets down onto the floor to do so, Kelly joins Amanda on the sofa, both her and Tracey fussing over Amelia’s hair.

“How come I’ve never heard of you before, Kelly?” Trevor asks, distractedly watching Michael nearly burn himself trying to fuel the fire.

Kelly looks at Amanda. “We’ve only recently gotten back into contact,” she says slowly, as if she needs Amanda’s approval to say so. “When Amanda... hmm.”

“When we had to move from North Yankton, I lost contact with all my friends, and my family. Kelly was the last family I had there, and I didn’t think about it at the time,” Amanda explains. “Now that Michael has retired _again_ , I thought it would be safe enough to get back in contact.”

“Woah, woah,” Trevor says, putting his hands up defensively. “Kelly knows everything?”

“Everything,” Amanda repeats.

“Even about me?”

“I kept out some of the more depraved parts, but yes, Trevor,” Amanda sighs. “It’s all in the past now anyway, isn’t it?”

It sounds a little like an accusation. “Yes,” Trevor says sharply.

“You two... better not be arguing,” Michael says from the fireplace, seemingly struggling with his simple task. Trevor heaves himself up from the sofa, helping Michael feed a massive piece of wood into the fire. “Thanks,” he says reluctantly.

Trevor pulls himself up into the chair next to the fireplace, as Michael stokes the fire with a poker. “You got a husband?” he asks Kelly.

“She’s not interested,” Amanda says quickly.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit forward, T?” Michael asks.

“Jesus!” Trevor says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m just asking the lady a question. You two are not nice people,” he sulks, crossing his arms.

“He’s deployed,” Kelly says, and Trevor’s ears perk up. “Two months into a nine month tour, so it was the perfect time to come and see Amanda again, so we weren’t alone for Christmas. That would’ve been tough."

Trevor thinks of all the Christmases he’d spent alone, and even worse, those he’d spend with his so-called family when he was younger. “I know how that feels,” he says simply.

“We sent him a present, though, didn’t we?” Kelly says, half talking to Trevor, half talking to Amelia.

“Oh!” Trevor says, turning to Michael quickly. “Better get the presents in from the truck, in case it rains or something. Gonna help me, or you gonna sit on your fat ass all night?”

“Michael will help,” Amanda says quickly, and Michael sighs, heaving himself off the floor.

“C’mon,” he says, and Trevor follows him out of the room and out into the cold. From the bed of his truck, Trevor collects his overnight bag and a sack of presents. “Wow. I thought you were joking about the present thing.”

“And as I told you earlier, _Mikey_ , I’m not a complete monster,” Trevor drawls.

“Only a part one,” Michael counters, and Trevor doesn’t reply.

They walk towards the front door again, but Trevor pauses. “What’s that thing there?”

Michael looks up at the tiny plant, wrapped up in a red ribbon. “Oh, uh, some mistletoe. Tracey thought it would be funny.”

“Mistletoe?” Trevor asks, putting his bag and sack down. This time, he actually knows what it is. He just wants to watch Michael squirm.

“Yeah, uh, it’s a Christmas thing, if two people meet under it they’re supposed to kiss,” he says quickly. “We should get those presents under the tree before--”

“So,” Trevor drawls, and Michael sighs. “Does that mean we should kiss?” he asks slowly.

“Trevor--”

“Oh, _come on_ , Mikey, it’s Christmas. Just a peck,” Trevor says, pointing to his cheek.

Michael sighs again. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, before he leans forward to peck Trevor’s cheek. At the last moment, Trevor grabs Michael’s face and plants one right on his lips. Michael squirms and pulls away. “For fuck’s sake, T,” he groans, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as if it’s contaminated.

Trevor can’t stop laughing. “Bit forward of you Mikey, wasn’t it?” he asks, still laughing. Michael grumbles under his breath, only causing Trevor to laugh harder, before scooping up the sack of presents and walking back into the living room. Trevor follows, leaving his bag of clothes in the hallway before he sits down in the chair next to the fireplace.

“What was all that noise?” Amanda asks. “You two better not be fighting.”

“We’re not,” Michael says, settling down on the sofa. “For once.”

Jimmy enters the room from the hallway, a book in his hand. “I finally found it,” he says. “Turns out there is a _lot_ of junk in the attic that we don’t need.”

Michael takes the book from Jimmy, wiping dust off the cover. He looks to Trevor. “Hey, T, you’re in the fireside seat too.”

“What are you two _talking_ about?” Trevor asks lowly.

“Don’t you remember when Michael used to read _Twas The Night Before Christmas_ to the kids before bed on Christmas Eve?” Amanda asks, and once again, its a thinly veiled accusation. She already knows the answer.

“I... was most probably drunk by that point, back in the day,” Trevor admits, scratching the back of his neck. “So what, it’s like, a story? Because the night before Christmas _last_ year, I was high as a fuckin’ kite in the desert somewhere.”

“This is honestly so tragic,” Tracey says, sounding wounded. “Uncle T, you’ve got to read it.”

“Read it!” Amelia pipes up from where she’s being fussed with, sliding off the sofa and running over to Trevor. “ _Pwease_.”

“Ugh, fine, tiny human,” he says, hoisting Amelia into his lap. Michael gives him the book, and with a bit of difficulty due to the wriggling child sat on his knee, manages to get it open on the first page. “Here we go. _Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house_ \--”

“Shit, Trevor, sound like you mean it,” Jimmy says.

“ _Jimmy_ ,” Michael snaps. “Go on, T.”

Trevor clears his throat dramatically. “ _Twas the night before Christmas_ ,” he reads, purposefully hamming it up. Amelia claps her hands together and squeaks. “ _When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not_ even _a mouse..._ ”

Trevor manages to get the dramatic bits right, perhaps even over the top, but everyone in the room listens, enthralled in the story and the magic it conjures. By the time Trevor gets to the final verse, even Amanda has a smile on her face. “ _Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!”_ Trevor closes the book, and looks around at everyone. “Nice little story there,” he says awkwardly, Amelia rubbing her eyes.

“I should put her to bed,” Kelly says, scooping her up out of Trevor’s arms. Immediately, Amelia starts fussing, trying to wriggle out of her mother’s grasp. “I think she likes you,” she says, as Amelia threatens to cry. “Okay, okay,” she says. Trevor stands from his armchair, and Kelly hands Amelia back to him. “Will you give me a hand?”

“Sure,” Trevor says, a little startled. He gives Michael a _help me_ look as they leave the room, but Michael only laughs. Chatter resumes in the living room as he and Kelly climb the stairs, Amelia in his arms.

“I think she’s missing her dad, you know,” Amanda says as they go into the guest bedroom. “There’s been no male influence in her life, and you’re kind of similar to him, I guess.”

Kelly sits Amelia down on her bed. “Let’s get you into some jammies, missy,” she coos, finding Amelia a small onesie and helping her unzip her dress. Trevor feels a little awkward. “I think Christmas kind of shows you how important family is.”

Trevor averts his eyes as Kelly strips Amelia down to put her in her onesie. “Yeah,” he says, instead staring at a landscape painting of Mount Chiliad at sunset hanging on the wall. “This is the first Christmas I’ve ever had where family hasn’t been shitty, y’know?”

“I don’t know what’d be worse at Christmas,” Kelly muses. “Being with shitty family or being alone.” She sighs, before her tone changes drastically. “Clever girl, all by yourself! Let’s get you tucked up in bed.”

Trevor watches Kelly tuck Amelia into bed, smoothing down her blonde curls. “Michael’s the only family I’ve got, really. Fucked up when I’m not even related to him, right?”

Kelly looks up over her shoulder to smile sadly at Trevor. “No, it’s not.”

Trevor remains silent, simply watching Kelly smile at Amelia. “Is Santa coming?” Amelia asks with a yawn.

“Only when you go to sleep,” Trevor finds himself saying. “He knows when you’re awake, and he won’t come until you’re asleep.”

Amelia looks at him with wonder in her eyes, before she burrows into her blankets. “I’ll sleep,” she murmurs, already halfway there.

It only takes a few minutes of Kelly humming a lullaby before Amelia is completely asleep. Feeling intrusive for the first time in a long time, Trevor makes his way out of the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him as he goes.

Trevor passes Jimmy on the way back down the stairs. “Alright, Jimbo?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy sighs, pausing for a moment. “Mom’s making me change my sweater for church. She says it ain’t _appropriate_.”

Trevor’s ears begin to ring faintly. “Church?” he squeaks out.

“Yeah, we go every Christmas Eve. It’s that Midnight Mass shit, y’know? Fuckin’ prayers and stuff.”

Trevor feels a bit faint. He manages to get down the stairs and into the living room before he cracks. “Church!” he says to Michael, who stands up quickly to square off to Trevor. “You’re making me go to fucking _church_?"

“It’s tradition,” Michael says plainly.

“I might fucking _die_. I’ll probably burst into flame. I’ve committed every mortal sin and have probably broken all of the ten commandments too.” He pauses for thought. “Actually, there’s no probability there.” Trevor puts his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Mikey, c’mon, I can’t go to church.”

“Trevor, it’s Christmas, they ain’t gonna pour holy water over you,” Michael deadpans. “Actually, taking one look at you, they might.”

Trevor grunts. “Fine, _fine_ , whatever. I ain’t wearing this stupid fucking sweater though,” he murmurs, pulling it off and throwing it down on the couch.

“Drama queen,” Amanda mutters from the other sofa, but Trevor doesn’t have the energy to rise to it.

“Is it the kind of church that gives out wine?” Trevor asks. “Would it be _more_ pious of me if I was to turn up having already drank the blood and eaten the body, yadda yadda.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Yes, Trevor, we’re Catholic--”

“We are?” Tracey asks, walking into the room in more church-appropriate clothing.

“--and no, it doesn’t work like that,” Michael sighs. “We better get going. Last year we were late, and they made us sit in the choir section.”

“And why were we late, Michael?” Amanda asks, standing up to flick Michael’s ear playfully. “Because _someone_ had to pull over and be sick on the curb because they’d had too much whiskey that day.”

“Hey, I was still _perfectly_ capable of driving, thank you very much,” Michael says to Amanda’s back as she saunters out of the room. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Are you driving?” Trevor asks, following Michael into the hallway.

“Yeah,” he says. “Kelly’s staying in with Amelia, so we can all squeeze in my car. You can even have the front seat, if you want.”

“Gee, _thanks_ ,” Trevor says. “Best Christmas present _ever_.”

“Fuck off, or you won’t get one tomorrow,” Michael says, and for some reason, Trevor feels compelled to shut up for once.

*

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Trevor mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “What the fuck is in that shit?”

“It’s incense,” Michael whispers back. “And try not to take the Lord’s name in vain while we’re in a fuckin’ church, T.” They’re sat at the rear of the completely packed church, and they’re lucky to have gotten seats.

Trevor continues rubbing his eyes every now and then as prayer after prayer is read out. Eventually, he even begins mumbling _amen_ along with the rest of the congregation.

He takes the time in his utter and complete boredom to reflect on the year, and his sins, and how the two combine. He thinks about the people he’s killed, wonders absentmindedly if they’re buried in the graveyard surrounding the church. He thinks about the graveyard in North Yankton, with Michael’s grave and Brad’s body.

He thinks about Michael sat at his side now, blinking hard to try to stay awake, and how he’d extended the arm of friendship when Trevor could’ve so easily snapped it off. And how, now, at Christmas, Trevor finally had a family to turn to.

Finally, the priest invites the congregation to take communion, and Trevor nearly leaps from his seat. Michael sits him back down with a strong arm. “No wine for you, buddy,” Michael says quietly, as people begin to filter to the front, music playing softly through the church.

Trevor stares at Michael. “ _What_ ,” he grinds out through his teeth.

“Communion for Catholics only,” Amanda pipes up, and Trevor glares at her.

“You _lured_ me to this place with the promise of alcohol,” Trevor whispers to Michael. “I’m feeling pretty betrayed right now, which, _might I add_ , is becoming a pretty common feeling around you.”

“Cool it,” Michael says. He reaches inside his suit jacket, pulling out a hip flask and passing it to Trevor. “That should do for the time being.”

Trevor looks between Michael and the silver hip flask now in his hands. “You... you had this? The whole time? And you didn’t think of _sharing_ it?”

Someone from the row behind shushes them loudly, and Trevor glares in the general direction before leaning closer to Michael. “That Christmas present better be _real_ good,” he hisses, before dropping down onto his knees as if to pray. Instead, he uses the semi-hiding place to take a good, long swig from the hip flask. Lord knows he needs it.

Eventually, Michael nudges Trevor’s shoulder. “You can still come up with us, c’mon,” he says, and the family plus Trevor make their way to the front of the church. “When we’re standing there, you gotta cross your arms. Shows you’re not taking communion.”

“Wow, a real task,” Trevor snarks, crossing his arms in a huff well before they get to the front. He watches a little sadly as the De Santas have their wine and their bread, before they can finally go back to their seats. “Mmmm, I got a warm fuzzy feeling when the priest blessed me,” Trevor says to Michael on the way back. “Think the Devil might’ve lessened his hold on me with that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael says without heat. They both sip from the hip flask as they wait for the service to finally end, before they’re thrust out into the cold December air. “Well, T, you didn’t burst into fuckin’ flames,” Michael says at a normal volume as they all trudge to the car. “I’d consider that a success.”

“Yeah!” Tracey agrees enthusiastically. “And you, like, totally didn’t embarrass us either!”

“Thanks, Trace,” Trevor says.

“I was mostly talking about Dad, but, y’know, whatever,” she says.

Michael laughs. “Alright, alright, I get the point. Let’s go home, see if Santa’s already visited.”

“Dad, c’mon,” Jimmy says. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he mutters fondly under his breath as they all get in the car, to head back to the mansion and to sleep for the night.

*

Trevor wakes earlier than usual, blaming it on being in unfamiliar surroundings. He rolls over, narrowly avoiding falling off the sofa when he gets tangled in the blankets. It’s barely light outside, but Trevor remembers instantly that it’s Christmas morning. He lies awake for a while, staring at the ceiling and thinking of all the times in the past that he woke up on this morning, dreading the rest of the day. For once, today, he’s looking forward to it.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Trevor sits up to see Michael standing in the doorway to the living room. “Merry Christmas to you too,” Trevor says, voice thick with sleep.

“You gonna help me with Amelia’s surprise?” Michael asks.

“Sure.”

“Good,” Michael says, holding up a large bag. “Put this on.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “What is it?”

“A Santa costume,” Michael explains. “We’re gonna get Amelia down here to see Santa delivering her presents. Put it on,” he says, throwing the bag to Trevor. He catches it.

“Okay, but no,” Trevor says, throwing off the blankets and standing up. He’s only wearing his underwear, and Michael looks away.

“Why not?” Michael argues.

“One,” Trevor says, ticking it off his fingers. “Santa’s a fat fucker. I have speed to thank for my lean, _pristine_ figure, but the whiskey has helped keep some fat on you, Tubbs,” Trevor says. “And _two_. His name is Santa. Santa is part of your fucking _name_.”

“Hey, blame the FIB for that one,” Michael snaps.

“Yeah, thanks Davey,” Trevor mocks. “Put the suit on, Mikey,” he says, throwing the bag back to his friend. “Or do you want me to tell a certain someone that he doesn’t exist?”

Michael glares at Trevor. “Fine. But you _owe_ me.”

“Oh, don’t I always,” Trevor says dramatically, bending over to pull on a pair of jeans. He hears Michael huff behind him, before he stomps back upstairs. Trevor finds himself humming a Christmas song when, fully dressed, he heads into the kitchen to start the coffee machine.

“How do I look?”

Trevor turns around to see a poor imitation of Santa stood in the doorway. “The beard isn’t even on your face properly,” he sighs. “But I’ll suppose you’ll pass, for a three year old at least.”

“Thanks,” Michael snarks.

“I think you look pretty handsome, actually,” Amanda says, appearing behind Michael to give him a hug.

“Yeah, Dad, I mean, if Mom’s into older men,” Jimmy says, standing in the doorway.

“Jimmy!” Amanda warns him.

“Shall we go see if Santa’s visited, Amelia?” Tracey calls loudly from the hallway.

“Go, _go_ ,” Amanda whispers, hurrying them all into the living room. She sits them all down on the sofa, handing Michael Amelia’s stocking full of presents before taking her place next to Jimmy.

“Oh my gosh,” Kelly says, entering the room with a sleepy Amelia in her arms and Tracey at her side. “Look, Santa’s still here!”

“Santy?” Amelia asks, reaching out of her mother’s arms towards Michael. Michael picks her up, sits him on his knee.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” Michael asks in a deep voice. Trevor sniggers, and Tracey elbows him in the side.

Amelia nods furiously, so Michael pulls her stocking out from behind his chair. “Then these are for you. Merry Christmas,” he says, and Amelia claps her hands together.

“What do you say to Santa?” Kelly prompts.

“Thank you!” Amelia squeals, giving Michael a hug before sliding off his lap to start looking at the presents in the stocking.

“I have to go now, lots of other children to see,” he says, before walking out of the room. Luckily, Amelia is too engrossed in her presents to question why he’s walking upstairs towards the bedrooms.

“I’ll get some coffee,” Amanda says. “Jimmy, Tracey, you can have a present each.”

“Oh _Mom_ , c’mon,” Jimmy says while Tracey dives under the tree for a small box. He reluctantly grabs a larger package as Michael comes back downstairs in his slacks and a jumper, plonking himself down next to Trevor on the sofa.

“Merry Christmas, T,” Michael says quietly as Tracey shrieks about the golden necklace she’d just unwrapped. Trevor tunes it all out as Michael hands him a little parcel, wrapped in red wrapping paper.

Trevor looks at Michael before unwrapping the present. He holds it in his hands, staring at it for a couple of moments. “I thought... we never got a copy of this.”

“Yeah, well, I got my ways,” Michael says. After Trevor remains silent for a couple of moments, he tentatively asks, “do you like it?”

Trevor nods, too choked up to risk speaking. In his hands is a framed photograph an art student had taken back in North Yankton. Michael and Trevor hadn’t been aware that they were the subjects of it until after it had been taken, when she’d approached them to ask for their permission. In it, they’re stood against a wall, joking about their last job; Trevor remembers that clearly. There is a wide smile on both of their faces, their hair is a bit longer, and the gauze is still around Trevor’s neck from his latest tattoo. “We were laughing,” Trevor says softly. “You look so happy.”

“I was,” Michael says. “Those days were some of the best. _The_ best, in fact.”

Trevor flips the photo frame over, to see a small note tucked in the back. “ _North Yankton, 1992_ ,” Trevor reads. “ _Best friends_. Did she title it that?” Trevor’s voice is nearly breaking.

“No, I did,” Michael says, and he sounds as choked up as Trevor feels.

“Sappy fuck,” Trevor manages, and Michael laughs along with him. “This means a lot, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “After everything I put you through.”

“After everything we put _each other_ through,” Trevor corrects him. “And all I got you was a bottle of whiskey.”

“Hey, don’t ruin the surprise!” Michael jokes. He looks around the room, to his family opening their presents. “It means a lot, you being here for Christmas. Part of the family.”

Trevor nods. “It’s the first Christmas I’ve actually liked,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Alright, I think we’ve fulfilled our emotion quota for the day,” Michael says, standing up. “I’m gonna get some glasses, you’re gonna get my whiskey, and we’re going to slowly drink ourselves into oblivion and watch shitty Christmas specials.”

“Can we watch the one you mentioned about the green monster?”

“Yeah, T.” Michael says, smiling. “I think you’ll like the ending.”


End file.
